


Devil in the Detail

by roboticake



Series: a journey to recover [1]
Category: Castlevania (Cartoon), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, POV Alucard, Post-Series, TV Show spoilers, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-03 21:05:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11540421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roboticake/pseuds/roboticake
Summary: "A hunter and a scholar will find the Sleeping Soldier, and the three of them will stop Dracula."The story doesn't tell any detail beyond that, because of course itwon't.Or; Alucard doesn't expect a starry-eyed Speaker and a Belmont to be his companions.He'll try to make do.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so excited to write this. Thank you Netflix for awakening my Thirst(tm).  
> Also, thank you suchashay for bearing with me and my typos.

A hunter and a scholar are destined to find the Sleeping Soldier.

Alucard knows the story -the _prophecy_ , if he wants to indulge the Speakers- by heart, as it is his. But prophecies are vague and many details shrouded in mystery. He knows the end goal of his future companions and himself, of their possible success; but there is nothing, absolutely nothing, on the scholar and the hunter supposed to wake him.

The prophecy is short; can be written down in a single sentence if only the Speakers wanted to. It leaves a lot to interpretation, thoughts, and imagination. So, when the stone coffin closes on Alucard, the wound of his chest still throbbing, he dreams of wise elders wearied down by travel and veterans roughened up by war.

It is quite a surprise, then, when Alucard wakes up to a starry eyed magician. Barely a woman, more of a child; her short red hair, along with her youth, round her cheeks; and innocence taints her voice with wonder. Her robe, purple, is a Speaker’s, and she seems to be a scholar, but she is so young, so delicate. The world, _this_ world, will eat her alive.

Beside her, a hunter is standing, suspicious; his shoulders taut and his teeth grit. There is no awe in his eyes, just disappointment and anger. He is older than the girl, not by much, but his stance shows experience in combat.

The man’s name is Belmont; Trevor Belmont. Last son of the disgraced family that never stopped to hunt Alucard’s kin. His tunic indeed bears the crest any creature of the night has learned to be wary of, and the dhampir can see the man’s hand itching for the hilt of his whip.

Both the scholar and the hunter are set to bring a semblance of peace in this world turned mad. The Speaker-magician believes too much in the prophecy to fight him, but Belmont, under the lack of concern he displays, cares. He cares about humanity and wants to repel Dracula’s army back to Hell. That goal makes him reply beautifully to Alucard’s provocations, and Alucard almost sneers.

These two humans are driven by their mission and purposeful, but there is no way an innocent, naive, girl and a crass hunter like Trevor Belmont are destined to be the heroes of the prophecy. Admittedly, surviving the machines of his tomb is quite a feat, but the mechanisms are weak and breakable, and, as Belmont succinctly put, they just _fell_ in there. They could be untalented and useless fools, only guided by chance and determination.

Belmont’s whip cracks like a warning and knocks Alucard away many times, biting his skin and making him hiss in pain. There is no anger when Alucard retaliates, though. He doesn’t use the full extent of his powers and prefers a methodical approach; watches Belmont move, fluid and catlike, jumping away from harm and throwing knives with precision.

The last son of house Belmont inherited his forebears talents in combat, Alucard notices, but also their flaws. Belmont is mediocre when it comes to wield a sword. Too many movement, too much aggressiveness. Despite his words and his lack of faith, he probably wanted to believe in the Sleeping Soldier too. Now, after finding out the fabled savior is a vampire, Belmont shows his disappointment and anger in his moves, discarding logic.  
  
Alucard studies Belmont with keen interest. There is a certain beauty tinged with unfamiliarity in the way he wields his weapons. His stance, his movements; they look like some sort of refined brawl fight. Every single move lacks the polished finish peculiar to the Belmont family, but none of them is messy enough to be entirely street-taught. It’s... Unexpected, Alucard thinks. The two fighting stances give an odd mix, where a parry is followed a push of a knee against his groin.  
  
Albeit the lack of honor in this move, Alucard finds that it is quite a refreshing twist in their fight. He meets it with a slight disdain and thinks about the older Belmonts, so righteous and proud. They would never do that. They wouldn’t even _think_ about doing that.

Disgrace has changed the Belmont family, and it amuses Alucard, to some extent. It amuses him enough to not see Belmont’s head crash into his nose; and the impact leaves spots of darkness in his sight.

When their fight picks up again, they don’t talk anymore. They let the clash of steel do it for them. Belmont is frustrating, and when he manages to wound Alucard on his chest, Alucard loses all semblance of calmness. He retaliates with a punch, misjudges yet doesn’t care about the strength of it. Belmont grunts in pain when his back hits some stairs. The water pipes nearby groan.

Alucard, predatory and dangerous, crawls over Belmont, who, despite his obvious defeat, isn’t yielding. The blood of the hunter’s cuts is tempting, smelling saccharine sweet and a bit earthy like honey and alcohol; and Alucard can hear the staccato rhythm of his heart through the pulse of his neck. He wonders if Belmont knows it. Knows that Alucard wants to bite down right in his neck and drink his blood until only a dry body remains.

The dhampir’s slumber has left him hungry and the fight only made him _hungrier_. Somewhere in his mind, though, Alucard knows he should stop, because Belmont, despite his defeat, and this girl, despite her innocence, could still be the heroes of the prophecy, the ones destined to stop Dracula in his genocide.

He hisses, doesn't know exactly what to do. Alucard is a half-breed, a dhampir, and he always tries to listen to his human side when it comes to reason -his mother was temperance and logic personified after all; while his father has always been impulsive and resentful-. But Belmont is an insulting, drunk brawler, and while his techniques and moves aren’t bad, he will get butchered the instant he sets foot in front of Dracula. He already struggles against a weakened, starving, Alucard, damn it. How can he be the savior of mankind?

 _Ridiculous_ , Alucard thinks, baring his teeth as Belmont threatens him. Insufferable and cocky until the end, it seems. He will take joy in ripping his throat.

The contempt he feels for the man momentarily blinds him from the very fact that Belmont is able to lie down his life for humankind. It is still enough to make his move halt; though, the dark cloud of his mind clearing up a second to realize that Belmont seems eager to die, in a way. Does he have a death wish? Does he think he can restore his family’s reputation by dying as a hero?

The Speaker-magician draws a sharp breath behind Alucard’s back. She stops him from killing Belmont with a confident display of her power, a fireball caught between the fingers of her shaky hands.

Alucard hasn’t felt much of the magic thrumming under her skin earlier, but the spell is close to the nape of his neck now, warming the cold skin there. He doesn’t need to turn back to see that the strongest fire comes not from her hands, but from her eyes.

She wants to believe in the tale of the Sleeping Soldier; isn’t sure now if it is right or wrong. What she thought set in stone has been shaken by Alucard’s nature, by his fang and bloodlust, but she still grasps on hope, hope that she can save people. With or without the fabled Soldier.

Alucard was wrong. That girl can be naive or innocent, but is also determined, talented in magical arts and smart too; as she can quickly and silently conjure up elemental magic when he doesn’t expect it. It doesn’t seem to strain her either, and the shaking of her hands quells as she gains in confidence.

Alucard smiles. He was too blinded by how Belmont got under his skin that he forgot about giving a chance.

And a chance they have, these two humans. The Speaker-magician is a strong willed one, her magic steady and impressive; and Belmont, despite his flaws, knows what he is fighting against -a knowledge few possess in Wallachia-. With an appropriate training, maybe... Maybe...

Alucard pushes his hunger away, quiets the vampire of his mind hissing in want, ignores the sweet smell of Belmont’s blood. He will deal with it later.

When Alucard stands up, he only finds it fitting to give the girl and Belmont his human name, the one his mother chose, as he stands with mankind: Adrian Tepes.

He isn’t entirely sure of how they will fare in this journey. This ruthless world doesn’t give second chances. And so, when the three of them leave his tomb, Alucard closes his eyes and tries to hope again.

  
  
\- - -

  
  
Gresit is a ruin when the three of them come out of its entrails. Corpses of both humans and creatures litter the ground in a gruesome display; the first rays of dawn make the nearest pool of blood glint with gold. Belmont wrinkles his nose but doesn’t say anything. He plays with the grip of a throwing knife while watching Alucard, like a silent threat.

The Speaker-magician, introduced as Sypha Belnades, does not have the same detachment towards death as the hunter. She covers her mouth and frowns; does a valiant effort to not puke. But the body of a babe, barely a few months old, with its little feet bitten off, is too much for her. She throws up beside the last wall of the now ruined inn, eyes teary and hands balled into fists. Alucard hesitates for a second, then pulls a discarded piece of cloth over the corpse. It’s still bloody, still horrible, but it’s better than leaving it open for the crows to scavenge, Alucard thinks. Belmont throws him a weird, disbelieving look.

They continue their way to the Speaker’s lodging, Sypha trembling and burying herself in the Elder’s -her grandfather’s- arms the moment she sees him. She sobs quietly, her fiery hair messy, her blue eyes rimmed with red. The old Speaker only sighs and looks down. For a long while, they don’t talk. They mourn as much as this world let them mourn; a fleeting moment snatched away when Alucard steps into their shelter.

Everything is pulled back on urgency and survival then. Belmont summarizes their adventures in the depths of Gresit, purposely leaves out the moment he loses his fight against Alucard. Otherwise, he tells everything. He gives details on the machines, doesn’t spare anything on Alucard’s origins.

As expected, the Speakers are wary of him, suspicious when they take a look at his bright golden eyes, his fangs, his sword. Belmont, leaning against the wall behind the crowd of hooded men and women, watches with a slight tilt of his head, on alert. Alucard can’t fault him for being cautious. Belmont has always chased supernatural creatures and never expected to work with one.

As a gesture of peace, Alucard delicately places his sword away, near the dying fire of the chimney. It’s just to reassure the Speakers, really. He can still call for his sword like he did before he fought Belmont; and Belmont knows. He stays vigilant, purses his lips, crosses his arms. He barely thanks the Elder when he gives, probably back, a fur trimmed cloak. 

Good. Belmont's cautiousness will keep him alive.

The Speakers surrounding Alucard slowly have their suspicion morph into awe and reverence. The dhampir finds it unnerving. It is as if the prophecy is history when it is not; not yet.

Alucard knows the three of them will somehow stop Dracula, but he also knows it can be in many, many ways. They can be lucky, of course, lucky enough to follow a simple story; the ones told to children before they sleep: meet Dracula, kill him, and live on to tell the tale.

But knowing how destiny and prophecies are, how fickle and unpredictable they can be, Alucard wonders if they will somehow help his father in his plans, on purpose or not. Stopping Dracula doesn’t mean that they will save humanity, after all. His father can stop because there is not a single man left to kill.

Alucard represses a shudder at the thought. He might be estranged from his father, but he is still family. And blood ties can make anyone an idiot; humans, vampires, or whatever else exists in this sad world.

He chases the idea away. It is ridiculous. Belmont would rather die than help a pure-blooded vampire, and Sypha doesn’t seem to be someone easily manipulated. They will be fine, he thinks.

_They will be fine._

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changed the rating because of upcoming chapters !  
> \+ I love writing Alucard's POV. Oops.

The sun is high and the stench of death everywhere when they begin preparations to leave the Speakers’ shelter. They have decided to go west, towards Targoviste, where Dracula’s castle was last seen. If they don’t find him there, they will go to Lupu, Lisa Fahrenheit Tepes’ hometown.

Alucard knows his father wouldn’t move much. It wouldn't be a surprise if he decided to stay, for now, near the city where people watched his wife burn. Immortality, after all, comes with a different grasp on emotions. A year is not enough for vampires to mourn. It’s barely enough to accept death.

Alucard huffs, feeling the sun warm the top of his head as he thinks. Targoviste is not only far from Gresit, but the roads are also dangerous and the lack of shade, a problem. He grimaces, tugs the hood of his newly acquired cloak over his head; tucks his golden locks behind his shoulder. The blonde of his hair is eye-catching, and for now, they need to be as discreet as possible. This city just barely managed to survive an attack launched by a vampire. They do not need to find out that one of them is lingering in town. It would get ugly.

Belmont stares at Alucard standing under the light, wrinkles his nose when Sypha tentatively asks the dhampir for help. Alucard nods, takes his time to smile at her, showing his sharp white fangs and glinting eyes, just because it would spite Belmont.

Indeed, Belmont makes an aborted movement towards the hilt of his whip when Alucard moves near Sypha to hoist her provision bag onto a horse. The Speaker-magician mutters some thanks then sighs wearily. She throws, at both the dhampir and the hunter, an unimpressed glare before she leaves them, shaking her head.

It’s only when she disappears in the Speakers’ shelter that Belmont breaks the silence. He has his arms crossed, studies more than watches every single one of Alucard’s movement.

“You’re not _only_ a vampire, are you.”

Alucard raises an eyebrow, slightly amused. Isn’t it obvious? He lacks the aggressiveness of his pure-blooded kin, doesn’t immediately burn under the sun, and, more importantly, doesn’t see the entirety of the human race as livestock.

“Are you always that clever, or is it one of your good days?” Alucard deadpans.

He doesn’t see Belmont’s reaction, but hears his words die in an offended stutter before they can escape his mouth. Alucard stifles a chuckle in a cough, pretends the cold bite of the wind has chilled his lungs.

While Belmont boasts quite often about his family’s bestiary, he doesn’t seem to know much about dhampires. Alucard can’t really fault the man. His kinds are rare, too rare to be properly indexed in a book, even a _Belmont_ book. Alucard himself has never met a half-breed.

“What do you know about dhampires, Belmont?” he asks evenly as he steps under the shade of a tree. The sun's beginning to feel too hot.

Belmont, still upset, has a little bit of rosiness left in his cheeks. Alucard isn't sure if the alcohol in his blood has also an effect in it. Somewhere in his mind, a voice demands him to find out with a bite.

God fucking damn it. Alucard hasn’t quenched his thirst yet. He thought he would have more time, but it is growing urgent if he is willing to feed on a _hunter_. He clears his throat, looks down. His eyes shine red when he craves blood, and Belmont would try to kill him the second he sees them.

“I know that you’re more or less vampires,” Belmont says, with a dismissive gesture towards Alucard’s body. He hasn’t noticed anything yet. “And that the human blood in your veins doesn’t change much of that. You’re pretty much just vampires that can stand the sun.”

Alucard only hums. He tugs at his hood, a little self-consciously. The villagers, the Speakers; they must not see him like this.

“You do know, then, what I need to survive,” he says, flicks his eyes minutely up at Belmont’s throat. He doesn’t mean to do that, but it’s too late. Belmont narrows his eyes in pure disgust.

The hunter purses his lips with contempt and his gaze shines in alert. Still, he doesn’t move an inch. Alucard guesses Belmont is ready to strike, only assesses the situation for now, a knife hidden under his cloak.

“Try anything and you die.”

“I won’t try anything, unless I have consent,” Alucard murmurs with a huff. He is not a _savage_. “But I won’t be of use if I am starving to death.”

“Then fucking die,” the hunter immediately seethes. “We’ll find Dracula with or without you, and from what I see, right now, it’ll be _without_ you.”

Alucard snorts in disdain. “You let me die, and all of humankind is doomed. No one knows the castle or my father like I do. You’ll get lost and crushed like insects, your quest turned into a pitiable failure. I'm part of the prophecy, Belmont, even if you hate it. You. Need. Me.”

Disgust and reluctance haunt the uptick of Belmont’s mouth, knit his eyebrows in a frown, harden the blue of his eyes. Alucard watches, prepares himself to flee. In his condition, he would probably die if Belmont decides to fight him. The hunger weakens him, but the rays of the sun too.

“Do you prefer if I ask the Speakers?” Alucard asks coldly. “I believe Sypha would gladly lend me her neck. I am her fabled Sleeping Soldier, after all.”

Hearing about the Speakers makes Belmont reconsider Alucard’s condition and silent demand. He groans in frustration, obviously not wanting to put the Speakers in danger after last night’s attack, but not wanting to be a vampire’s snack either.

Alucard isn’t proud to manipulate and threaten Belmont into giving his blood. He still prefers that than lashing out, though, as the hunter is right about the dhampires: despite their mixed heritage, they are still more vampires then humans. Thirst, hunger; they can turn the most refined ones of them into dangerous, mindless creatures.

“How long can you keep that up?” Belmont finally asks, his voice barely above a whisper. He sweeps his eyes up and down, from Alucard’s toes to the top of his hooded head.

Alucard ignores the scrutiny and looks up.

“With this weather, a couple of hours,” he says, observing the blue, cloudless sky, before he turns his attention back to the man. “But I will have to feed before we leave. The hunger only gets worse, under the sun.”

“And then?”

“Once every three days,” Alucard replies and adds, when Belmont throws him a skeptical glance, “I am a half-breed. I can't spend too much time without a decent meal”. 

Belmont seems conflicted. He opens his mouth, wants to say something, but Sypha comes back with another bag, full of clothes this time. She pushes it wordlessly in the hunter’s arms and approaches Alucard with crossed arms and purposeful steps. Did she eavesdrop? Belmont, behind Sypha, steps towards them, ready to tear the dhampir’s body apart with his whip when the girl gets close to him.

The Speaker-magician doesn’t seem to mind the proximity. Her smaller frame lets her easily peek under Alucard’s hood, and he knows, he knows she sees his red eyes the second she shudders. That aside, she doesn’t seem frightened, much to the dhampir’s surprise.

“Don’t look at me like I’m stupid,” Sypha says with a sigh. “I saw the empty jars of blood beside your coffin. You need blood. Just tell me how can I help you.”

“I... thank you, Sypha,” Alucard replies, taken aback, sincere gratitude warming up his chest. He didn't expect that. He should have directly asked Sypha instead of Belmont; she seems more compassionate, more sympathetic.

But then, Alucard isn't sure if he would be able to control himself after a year of blood deprivation. He is by no means a barbarian, yet he understands they better have someone well versed in combat just in case.

Alucard clears his throat, and adds, “But Belmont has already volunteered.”

“Belmont?” Sypha repeats, blinking in disbelief, her attention turning on said man. “He volunteered?”

“Not out of kindness of heart,” Belmont immediately grumbles as if he is accused of something terrible. His voice is jaded and his features tired. “We need the vampire alive, and better me than anyone else to keep him fed.”

He gives the dhampir and Sypha a smirk and half a shrug, a little condescending. “At least I can have the pleasure to stake him if he tries anything.”

Alucard rolls his eyes. “I won’t try anything.”

“Yeah, whatever, I don’t care. At least you know how it’ll end if you do.”

 

\- - -

 

Belmont decides that they leave in the middle of the night, when the full moon is high enough to light up their path.

Maybe demons will attack Gresit again, but it doesn’t really matter. Lack of time and resource make it impossible for the trio to stay in town. Targoviste is a little more than a week long journey by horse, and both Belmont and Alucard are familiar enough with the dangers of the roads to not count on the survival of their mounts.

They don’t tell Sypha. She is smart and powerful, but isn’t as used as the hunter to the horror that Dracula unleashes upon this world. Alucard looks at her, feeling a little bit sorry. She assumes they will stay if Gresit is in danger again, unaware that a night of travel lost is another night the vampire lord gains to bring ruin and destruction upon Wallachia. He lets her say her goodbyes to her grandfather, feeling out of place and slightly guilty.

He exits the shelter to witness the ink of the night sky bleed over the last, valiant rays of dusk. He observes, his breathing calmer when the night begins to settle, the moon peeking at him from the horizon.

Alucard doesn’t really hate the sun; as it reminds him of his mother. But its rays are tiring, and he always feels flushed and slightly nauseous under its light. He sighs. He can try to embrace the human side of himself as much as he wants; physiology, biology, whatever his mother called it, has decided otherwise. His body is a night creature’s more than a human’s, and that is an immutable truth.

He remembers once, when he was six years old and stubborn, when he tried to follow his mother to work despite the summer sun burning through his blouse. His mother found him disoriented on the side of a road hours later, when she was coming back home, and he fainted before they reached the castle.

That day, Lisa Fahrenheit Tepes cried.

Alucard, at that time, didn’t know why, and also cried because he thought he upset his lovely mother.

But now, lonely and waging a war against his own father, Alucard does know. Lisa Fahrenheit Tepes cried for her son condemned to the night, for her son she knew will be left alone; for her son who will never truly experience humanity; as he will never, ever, be truly human.

Alucard sighs heavily, looking down on the dried dirt of his boots. Being a dhampir isn’t terrible. It has its perks, makes him immune to most diseases, and gives him a better chance against Dracula. But he somehow doesn’t find his place. He will always be too kind, too compassionate for his father and his pure-blooded kin; too cold, too odd for the humans. He will never find a sanctuary where he can be _whatever_ he is.

He wishes he can have a family, one day, Alucard admits. A normal family, like the ones he has seen before in villages. A family that would care, smile, weep, and cry together.

His throat suddenly burns with thirst as he recognizes Belmont’s smell float to him. Grimacing, Alucard has to harshly plant his nails into the palm of his hands. The pain refrains him from lashing out when the hunter finds him and grips his arm. His eyes flash red the moment he catches a stronger scent of Belmont’s still healing wound; honey and wine under a thick layer of cheap ale. Alucard hates how hunger clouds his judgment.

 _And this is exactly why you will never be human, Adrian Tepes,_ his mind, with a voice too much like his father’s, tells him. _You’re a vampire._

Alucard stubbornly ignores it. He stares intently at Belmont, tries to not breathe. He can hear the hunter’s pulse going too fast; almost sees it jump under the thin skin of his neck.  
  
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Belmont manages to murmur after a moment of hesitation, then pulls Alucard elsewhere. They walk and don't stop until they reach an alley that reeks of decay and piss.

“Why do you want to hide?” Alucard asks, puzzled, his eyes stopping on the vague silhouette of a unclaimed corpse.

Belmont scrunches his nose up.

“I don’t want to stake you in front of Sypha, or the other Speakers, or anyone, really, if you try to do something weird. These people have seen too much shit already.”  
  
Alucard is half-convinced by the explanation, but hums in understanding nonetheless, somehow relieved to have Belmont feed him.

He wouldn't admit it aloud, as Belmont is quite an insufferable, self-congratulating man, but he was right, earlier. With the state of his hunger, Alucard can't be sure his self-control would remain intact; and the hunter has proven to be the most experienced in supernatural matters in Gresit. With him, Alucard doesn't fear to lethally wound anyone.

It would be quite bad for the Speakers, or anyone, really, to see the Sleeping Soldier go feral. He has to maintain hope, not breed fear.

Alucard's sharp fangs gets longer and poke his tongue when Belmont takes to much time to prepare. It’s embarrassing, really, how primal needs makes him behave like a wild animal. He winces and purses his lips, forces himself to stay still.

“Do you have anything, any rules you wish to establish before we begin?” he asks with a strained voice.

Belmont nods. He pulls the sleeve of his left arm up while keeping a knife in his right hand.

“No biting. You feed on the cut of my arm only. When I tell you to stop, you _stop_.”

Alucard tilts his head. It would be easier to bite; the wound would be smaller and easier to heal, but he still understands Belmont’s choice. No one would want a vampire’s teeth in their flesh.

“Understood,” he says. “If it eases you, you can keep a weapon in your hand. Your whip, maybe, around my neck?”

He doesn’t really like the idea, but perhaps Belmont would feel a little better about this whole situation. Alucard is confident in his abilities, anyway, knows he is quick enough to untangle himself before the hunter gets a chance to tear his head off. It's merely here to hinder the dhampir's movements if he gets carried away.

Belmont blinks; obviously hasn't expected this proposal. He seems to think about it for a second then draws a shaky breath, nods. His heart beats even faster when he shallowly winds the whip around Alucard’s neck.

The blessed leather of the weapon burns a little his skin there but Alucard has felt worse, before. He stands obediently in front of Belmont, watches the man warily let go of the hilt of his whip for an instant to cut his arm with his silver knife. The dhampir's stomach twists and knots with pure want.

The cut is shallow, yet blood soon pours out steadily, its sweet smell almost masking the stench of the alley. Alucard hisses with hunger; Belmont stops him with a sharp tug of the whip, before he lets the vampire move.

A warning. Alucard acknowledges it with a small tilt of his head; while his hands already grasp greedily the man’s left arm.

He licks more than drinks Belmont’s blood. His teeth are too sharp to move closer to the skin without taking the risk of breaking it, and the whip tightens if he tries to find a better angle. It’s straining, but beggars can’t be choosers, and Alucard licks messily around the wound without a single complaint.

“If it festers I’ll kill you,” Belmont warns breathlessly.

Alucard hums, pulls back enough only to say, “It won’t,” before he licks Belmont’s arm again, grunting as a gulp makes his Adam’s apple sizzle against the whip.

The blood is as sweet as Alucard thought, making Belmont’s skin underneath almost salty. It’s intoxicating enough that he has to repress a frustrated hiss when, after a while, there’s less blood coming out of the wound. He is sure he fails to hide his indignation when he gazes up and meets Belmont’s wide blue eyes.

“You can go on,” the man croaks out, his voice rough. He tries to put back his detached mask, but his cheeks are flushed and Alucard can still hear the irregular, too rapid beat of his heart. He frowns. He didn't think about it but it is so obvious now.

“Are you drunk?”

“I can’t be sober for that shit,” Belmont replies.

Alucard huffs and swallows the last drops of blood he gathers with the tip of his tongue, ignoring Belmont’s shiver. The hunter’s blood is thick as nectar in the back of his throat. It's tempting to continue to drink.  
  
“I think it is enough, for now. We need to move soon, and we can’t afford to have you too weakened,” the dhampir finally says, pushing himself away from Belmont. “Will you be alright?”

Belmont nods and wordlessly takes off his whip from Alucard’s throat. His silence would be almost worrying if Alucard didn’t enjoy the peace and quiet.

“You go back to the Speakers,” Belmont says quietly after a while. He doesn’t dare to look Alucard in the eyes, shows the cut of his arm with an aborted gesture of his right hand. “I need to take care of this. We’ll meet in thirty minutes.”

Alucard hates orders, but agrees nonetheless.

Before Belmont leaves the filthy alley, he raises a hand to his own mouth, points at a corner of his bottom lip.

“Clean before you meet the others.”

Alucard frowns, tilts his head. He passes a curious tongue where Belmont shows him and finds a drop of blood. By the time he swallows it, the hunter is already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I noticed that my text editor doesn't pick up all of my mistakes. I try to correct them as much as I can with an online corrector and by rereading several times, but some of them still pass between the cracks. So do tell me if you notice something wrong via PM or comments!

When Alucard woke up, he didn’t know it would be like this. He knows humans are fragile, easy to manipulate, and obviously not the most logical beings; but he has hoped to see a military effort, a resistance, against a common threat. Something, if not particularly useful, at least organized.

Gresit’s barricade is neither, Alucard thinks as he tears, along with Belmont and Sypha, through it. His hands don’t hurt despite the splinters piercing his skin. They are filthy, though, covered with dust, grime and dried blood. He makes a face. Dead people's blood always smell sour, for vampires. It burns the back of their nose.

Behind him, he can hear Belmont grumble.

“For fuck’s sake,” the hunter mutters, pushing himself up and shuffling away.

Sypha glances quizzically at Alucard, who only shrugs. With the amount of drink he downs, Belmont probably wants to urinate. _Again_.

Alucard huffs at the thought, distaste taking over his features. He still doesn’t understand why would Belmont, a hunter who puts himself in mortal danger on a daily basis, keep consuming alcohol with no obvious signs of restrain. Is it a way to escape the horror he witnesses? A way to forget his own problems? To dull his fear before a battle?

Everyone have their own coping mechanism, but Alucard wonders if Belmont realizes his excessive consumption of alcohol can be a liability in their travel; a liability they absolutely can’t afford. There is no way Alucard lets humankind’s hopes rest on the shoulders of a man caught in a drunken stupor most of the time.

The dhampir is only taking a chance with Belmont and Sypha. He still doesn’t know if they are the companions who will help him stop his father and right now, they don’t look like it. 

Alucard grits his teeth. He bends down, lifts a heavy beam and sees, underneath, a litter of rats, still rosy and squirming in their nest. He makes a disgusted face. Sypha scrunches up her nose. She is kindhearted, but doesn’t say anything when Alucard kicks them dead.

He doesn’t take any pleasure in killing harmless animals. He knows, though, that rats are one of the easiest way to carry lethal diseases. With the amount of blood and rotting corpses on the streets, the risk of epidemics is already too high to let these rodents proliferate freely. He remembers, with a shudder, the books he read about of the black death and his mother's research about it. Diseases are understandably not much of anyone’s preoccupation, lately, but...

“Do you feel better, Adrian?”

It is strange, how Sypha prefers to call Alucard ‘ _Adrian_ ’. He doesn’t know if it’s to convince herself that there’s humanity in the creature he is; appreciates the thought if it is. There has been a long, long time since anyone wanted to acknowledge his human heritage. Belmont is too busy to see him only as a vampire, especially after what happened earlier, when he had to feed.

“Yes I do, Sypha,” he replies gently with a polite smile. “Thank you.”

“O-Oh, I, erm,” Sypha stutters, then coughs awkwardly. “Was Trevor a problem?”

“No, he wasn’t. He was quite collected during the... _operation_ ; for a lack of better word. Much to my surprise.”

Sypha hums and looks down thoughtfully at the bloody mess of dead rats. The crimson of their guts has splashed the pointy end of her boots. She looks... Conflicted. Angry and sad at the same time, even a little lost. Alucard tilts his head, raises a hesitant hand to gently pat her back. It is... How humans reassure each other, don’t they?

“Do you have something in mind, perhaps?”

The Speaker-magician sighs.

“I don’t know how to fight,” she says, then waves a hand at Alucard’s face, Alucard’s teeth, Alucard’s golden eyes. “And I don’t know how to help you. I don’t even know what I’m doing here.”

“Are you scared, Sypha?” Alucard asks, devoid of judgment. It is understandable. She is so young, after all, and so obviously cherished and protected until now.

Sypha freezes.

“No,” she says at first, then shakes her head under Alucard's stare. “Yes, I am,” she admits. “I... I don’t want to be a dead weight. Trevor, he knows how to fight, he is from a hunter’s family. And you, you are the Sleeping Soldier we kept waiting for!”

She laughs humorlessly, nervously, sadly. She looks at her Speaker robe, tugs at her sleeves with her dirty hands. “But who am I?”

“You are _unfortunately_ the one who stopped me from ripping Belmont’s throat,” Alucard says with a hint of amusement. “You’re the Speaker-magician who helped to save Gresit. And you’re a vital piece of the story, too. The Sleeping Soldier, the hunter, _and_   the scholar will stop Dracula, are they not? You’re not alone, Sypha, and you are not useless.”

Sypha seems taken aback for a second. She then hangs her head low to hide her embarrassed smile when she continues to tear bricks and wood out of the barricade. Alucard’s hand slips away from her back, and he wordlessly joins her efforts.

“You’re kind,” Sypha says after a while.

“No I am not,” Alucard replies as someone behind him deadpans, at the exact same time, “No, he’s not.”

The girl jumps, the heavy brick she carries almost dropping from her hands. Alucard sighs. He stops himself from rolling his eyes.

Belmont, back from wherever he was, yawns. He looks blearily at the sky, grumbles something under his breath and joins them again. Under the moonlight, the fur of his coat and his chestnut hair shine silver. He almost looks ethereal, like a true hero of legends.

A shame he can’t refrain himself from talking like a unrefined peasant, Alucard thinks. If he stuck at saving people and kept silent, he would be the embodiment of the hero Wallachia has been waiting for. But then, he isn’t sure if Belmont wants to be the savior of the country that has shunned his family, burned their estate, and forced them to exile.

“Don’t believe him, Sypha,” Belmont mutters as he squeezes himself between her and Alucard. “You’re a snack and nothing else.”

Sypha narrows her eyes, opens her mouth in protest, a little bit offended on Alucard’s behalf. The dhampir is grateful, but shakes his head. He doesn’t want to waste time on useless arguments again.

For a while, they silently continue their task, and when they finally strip down enough of the barricade to have room to pass, something metallic clicks behind them.

Alucard freezes. Sypha gasps. Belmont curses. They carefully turn back to see a guard standing a few feet away.

The man isn’t much of a guard anymore. The point of his spear is dulled, the plates of his armor rusted and the leather, underneath it, thin and clumsily patched. The crest of Gresit, once beautifully adorning the chest piece, is now covered in so much dirt that it’s almost impossible to see it.

Alucard pities as much as admires the guard. He doesn’t have any power to stop anyone or anything; not anymore. He is just there, patrolling the streets, reassuring people; his job turning him into a last, living vestige of a once organized city.

“What are you doing here, you three?” the guard asks with a frown.

“Getting out,” Belmont deadpans, and Alucard groans. This isn’t going to end well.

“Nobody goes out of Gresit, you fool. The barricade’s ‘ere for protection! I can arrest the three of you right ‘ere for breaking it.”

Belmont takes a deep breath before he straightens himself up, some on his joints cracking and popping. Sypha looks at him approach the guard with pursed lips, a little tense.

“Listen. Gresit is dead,” the hunter says, voice low and serious; blunt as ever. “Do you think the horde will stop because you managed to push their filthy asses away once? Because nope, that’s not going to happen. The least you can do now is to give people a chance to escape this shithole before demons come back with more flying bastards.”

“Watch your tongue, young man!” the guard protests. His face is red with anger or alcohol, Alucard isn’t sure since everyone seems to be drunk here. “Gresit will only survive this if we keep the gate barricaded! If I knew better, I'd say you're with the demons!”

Belmont closes his eyes.

“I, really, _really_ , don’t have time for this,” he breathes.

He headbutts the guard.

  
\- - -

  
By the time they stop, Gresit is far behind them, and the smoke of Braila’s chimneys close enough for Alucard to smell that not only logs are burning, in there. Houses too. _Corpses_ too. He sets his jaw, grinds his teeth. He shouldn’t care as much as he does, but he wonders if the people they left in Gresit are fine; if the Speakers have listened to Belmont and left when they had the time to.

The morning sun warms the back of his neck and he huffs, tugging at his hood to cover his head again. Fortunately, the cold winds of winter are dulling the effect of the star on him, but it’s still uncomfortable enough to make him squirm. His horse, led by a firm hand on the reins, neigh softly in wordless encouragement.

“Better rest here,” Belmont says, when they reach an abandoned farmer shack. He ties his horse to a nearby tree, sags down against the nearest wall. He stares at the city of Braila through a shattered window, then at Alucard. “You keeping up, vampire?”

Alucard hums, his voice rough with disuse; then shrugs noncommittally. While his feet feel cold and he needs to get rid of the kinks in his back, he doesn’t feel too tired. Sypha, on the other hand, is already dozing off. She might have led a nomadic life before, but she barely slept before they left, adrenaline and excitement making her fidgety and unable to rest.

“What about you, Belmont?” Alucard asks, throwing a pointed glance at the general area where the cut he got when they fought, and the one he inflicted on himself last night, are.

Belmont follows the dhampir’s gaze, then scoffs. “It’s not infected, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“I told you it won’t be.”

He carefully pushes Sypha, who was until then resting on the dirty floor, onto the sole makeshift bed of their shelter. It’s more a pile of old, dusty, clothes than a true mattress, but seems to do the trick. They don’t have the luxury nor the resources to aspire for something better. Sypha doesn’t seem to mind, anyway. She mutters something hazily, then turns her back at Alucard and falls asleep again.

Belmont seems uneasy to let Alucard touch Sypha, but doesn’t say anything, only stares. The dhampir sighs wearily.

“I am not going to harm her,” he says slowly, trying to get his words into the hunter’s thick skull. How long will he have to prove himself?

He is only met by a disdainful snort, as if Alucard being tired of Belmont’s rude behavior is a ridiculous concept.

“Of course, what am I thinking, it’s not like we’re traveling with a fucking _vampire_ ,” Belmont replies evenly, scrunching up his nose. “A fucking vampire that needs blood to live.”

He is playing with the hem of his sleeve absentmindedly, and Alucard is too jaded to argue. He lies down on his back beside Sypha, looks at the sky through the missing patches of the roof.

It’s still early in the morning, the sky pink as the last traces of the night dissipates. They only traveled a couple a hours, the moon guiding them until it disappeared behind thick clouds. After that, they blindly moved by foot, not wanting to risk to harm their horses with unforeseen potholes. While Alucard helped as much as he could with his enhanced sense, he couldn't do miracles. They are fortunate enough to only suffer from shallow gashes and cuts, but Belmont still seems in foul mood.

“We don't move fast enough,” he groans. “It’s going to take longer than a week. We have to avoid big cities, too.”

“Agreed. Travelers are rare, we’ll attract attention,” Alucard comments to the ceiling, combing his hair with his long fingers. He can feel Belmont’s insistent eyes on him, following his movements, and stops.

He hears the hunter move, then, and soon, his head hides the hole of the roof and the sky; blocking Alucard's sight. He wordlessly looks down at the dhampir, yet his face doesn’t wear the usual condescending, bored mask he likes to show. He instead looks contemplative, stares too long at Alucard hair, then at Sypha’s sleeping form.

“Do you,” Alucard begins, clears his throat. He pushes himself up, and tries again, straining his neck to meet Belmont's eyes. “Do you feel something for her?”

It would explain why Belmont is so keen to keep Alucard as far as possible from Sypha, and why would he always try to keep her safe. But to his surprise, Belmont only frowns, perplexed.

“No,” he says, his voice tainted with disbelief. “I mean, I just met her. I _barely_ knows her.”

“And?” Alucard asks, not understanding what Belmont means.

The man snorts.

“How can I feel anything for someone I just met? I don’t know what you  _vampires_ think, but we _humans_ don’t feel anything just like... that.”

“We _vampires_ ,” Alucard says, patiently, as if he is teaching something, “know how it’ll be, with someone, the second we meet them. We have lived too much, too long, to waste time with people not worth anything.”

It is exactly how it was, when Dracula talked to Lisa for the first time. She loved to tell Alucard how she met his father and how she sort of forced him to listen to her, but never realized that, in barely five minutes, Dracula knew he would come to love her more than the world could contain.

“Oh,” Belmont says, raising a cocky eyebrow, mouth pulled in a shit-eating grin. “Then, I’m worth your time?’”

“Not really,” Alucard grumbles with a huff, then adds, “but I make do”.

Belmont laughs, and it's strange. There is no mockery, no contempt. Trevor Belmont is just amused. He doesn’t mind throwing his head back, he doesn't mind baring his neck and for once, he seems to enjoy himself.

Alucard is puzzled, but feels a small chuckle making its way out of his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized that the story has been unfolding quite slowly; sorry about that. I'm still trying to get a grasp at the characters. Fortunately, it'll get better from now on since our trio began their journey!


	4. Chapter 4

The admiration Sypha feels is cast aside as the days pass; reverence and awe disappearing to only leave politeness and a newfound interest in Alucard’s life. The Speaker wants to be a friend, the dhampir quickly realizes, and it makes his chest a little warmer, a little lighter.

He isn’t sure what social etiquette requires him to do, but Sypha shows a lot a patience and doesn’t take offense in Alucard’s awkward attempts at conversation. If anything, she argues more often with Belmont, who doesn’t try anything to appear less rude. But while he still mocks and sneers, is still full of disdain; his eyes, Alucard notices, have sometimes softer, wistful light, now.

Alucard wonders if that light has always been here, or if he is only seeing it now, after three days where they could do nothing but stay together, sharing shelters and thoughts all day and night.

It preoccupies Alucard more than it should. He isn’t worried about Belmont, per see; the man is an insufferable  _cretin_ , but about their quest. They need to be true to each other if they want to survive this; and their chances of winning are already close to none.

“Do you even sleep, sometimes?” Belmont’s bored voice resounds behind Alucard, and the creature tries to mask his surprise.

They have decided to stop at the outskirts of a small village for the day, far enough to notice the first signs of a demon attack, but close enough to be at short walking distance of it. Belmont has insisted that Alucard rests, as the sun is beginning to turn the skin of his face pink and painful.

Belmont sits beside him, stares, then says with a smug little smirk, “I didn’t know you could get a sunburn.”

Alucard grumbles a curse under his breath and tries to hide his face in the collar of his cloak, while still trying to appear as dignified as possible. It’s almost pitiful, really. He really wants to hate the sun, sometimes, like any other vampire; can’t bring himself to.

“You never got one, before? Sunburn, I mean,” Belmont asks, and Alucard is surprised to find genuine curiosity in his voice.

“No. I was often in the castle and always out during the night. My father never tolerated that I go out under the sun like a human.”

“I see,” the man replies.

For a long while, they stay silent. It’s almost awkward, since they never really talk to each other. They bicker on a good day, ignore each other on a bad; and most of the time, Belmont silently watches Alucard talk with Sypha. Their interactions are limited, but Alucard is glad enough to see that Belmont has stopped to keep a cautious hand on his knife.

It’s not trust, not really; the hunter’s eyes still flickers to the dhampir’s unnatural golden ones more often than not; on his fangs and on his sword, but it’s still a start. Alucard recognizes small victories wherever he finds them.

He clears his throat and tucks his chin further in his collar. The sun is beginning to set, painting the scenery in orange and gold. It should be pretty; and it is pretty, yet Alucard doesn’t want to acknowledge it. Belmont snorts, scratches the back of his head. He is sensible enough to not mock.

“Can’t you just heal that? They’re just sunburn. You’ve got worse.”

“It’ll heal when I feed,” Alucard says, carefully.

He isn’t sure if he should have said that. Belmont is tense beside him, too tense, but doesn’t move an inch. He just stares at the village right in front of him; thinks so hard, Alucard swears he can hear the gears of the man’s brain working.

The dhampir knows Belmont hasn’t forgotten about Alucard’s diet. He has, after all, the whole, impressive, bestiary of his family engraved in his mind. He still seems taken slightly aback, as if he didn’t expect Alucard to breach the subject; as if he has forgotten Alucard needs blood to live.

Belmont is quick to ground himself, though. His surprise is quickly gone, and the carefree, self-satisfied behavior Alucard has come to get used to is back.

“Now?” Belmont asks, raising an eyebrow. “Or it can wait later?”

The man discreetly glances at Sypha, who is practicing her magic alone, sitting cross-legged on a patch of grass. She is amusing herself by summoning tiny fireballs, letting them float around her like a swarm of fireflies. Alucard would normally have frowned upon the lack of relevance in these kind of training, but can’t bring himself to. Sypha deserves to empty her mind before she is sent to scout the village.

“It can wait, but it would be wiser to do it soon; perhaps later tonight,” Alucard finally says. He doesn’t want Sypha to witness the ugliest side of him; when he is desperate and begging for a few drops of blood like a shameless demon. Despite his hunger, he has his dignity. He prefers to wait for Sypha to leave before he feeds.

Belmont hums. At least, he has the decency to not comment on Alucard’s decision, and instead asks, a little out of nowhere, “Want to spar?”

“Spar?” Alucard repeats, raising an eyebrow. Quite an impromptu suggestion, coming from a man who doesn’t want to stay close to a vampire. “When I haven’t fed yet?”

“Last time, you won, and you have just woken up starving,” Belmont says with a disgruntled huff. “We both know you’ll be fine. Besides, I really need some target practice.”

“And I am to be the target, am I?” Alucard murmurs. He is already tired at the prospect of a spar. Can’t the man stay still for a while? They traveled all day, and Alucard still has to put up with the burns before they heal. He only wants to rest now, but is quite aware that Belmont wouldn’t give up until he gets what he wants; namely, a fight.

“You got it,” Belmont says, as if he has read Alucard’s mind, and his whip immediately cracks beside Alucard’s face. “And you’re dead.”

Alucard glares at him.

“I was not ready,” he seethes.

He rolls on a side, dodging a silver knife flying straight at his head, then jumps to escape the leather of Belmont’s whip snapping too close to his side. He hisses in annoyance, flicks his wrist, and his sword sings when it floats from his horse to his right hand.

Belmont merely shrugs with a smug smile, all white teeth and disdain. “Not my problem if you’re not ready. Do you think you father will wait for us to get ready? Because I don’t.”

And Alucard understands. He understands the need to be vigilant and ready to fight at all times, but a spar... A spar is supposed to have rules, decency and respect. There are none of them in this  _thing_  that Belmont is so eager to continue. It’s ruthless, cunning, and nothing Alucard expects, and it irks him to no end.

He hisses again when he barely escapes another one of Belmont’s assault, the whip tearing a part of his pants, leaving a burning, bloody, brand on his thigh. Belmont huffs.

The hunter learns quickly. He knows Alucard is deadly in close combat, and so keeps his whip cracking and snapping around him; a makeshift shield the dhampir can’t pass through. It is a sound tactic, he muses, but disregards the very idea that Alucard does have other powers than the ones he has displayed before.

Belmont lifts an eyebrow in silent provocation and makes the movements of his wrist quicker when Alucard disappears. He expects the dhampir to attack him like he did last time; and he does. He reappears behind Belmont with his sword raised, but he is standing farther away and lets his weapon be caught by the whip. Belmont snorts, almost bemused with this easy victory; but by the time he pulls and throws Alucard’s sword away, the dhampir has a hand raised and fire is coming out of his palm, lightening up his now red eyes, highlighting his long hair with a coppery glint.

The hunter jumps away in time to only have the end of his cloak burn. He is too busy to sputter in indignation to see Alucard lunge. The dhampir catches Belmont mid-air, grasps the man’s neck with a hand and forces the two of them onto the ground. It smells like scorched grass where they land.

Alucard is over Belmont, a leg insinuated between his; a position akin to the one they had a few days ago, when they fought in the dungeon. Though this time, there is no urgency, or mortal danger; and for a moment, they just stare at each other, breathless. Then Belmont licks his lips, gulps and lets out a faint whimper when he feels his Adam’s apple move against Alucard’s grasp.

“That’s cheating,” Belmont breathes, his voice strangely weak, and Alucard can feel the rush of air in his throat as he speaks.

It’s a heady feeling, to have Belmont’s life in the palm of his hand. He tentatively tightens, just a little, his grip. The hunter’s eyes flutter shut.

“There’s no cheating in a fight,” Alucard murmurs, his voice rough with amusement and something else.

Belmont shudders, makes a little noise from the back of his throat.

“Rich, coming for the one who wanted to be ready before the spar,” he gasps, squirming under Alucard. “Can you let me go now?”

Alucard hums and slides away. His hand is warm with Belmont’s skin, making the handle of his sword almost icy when it flies back to him. He didn’t mean to be that carried away, but Belmont doesn’t really seem to care. He had his sparring session, after all, even if Alucard would more call it a brawl.

As Alucard readjusts himself, a hand suddenly catches the collar of his coat, and the world is turned upside down. His hair catches scorched twigs, and the air is knocked out of his lungs. When he blinks up, Belmont is straddling him with a grin.

“Didn’t say it’s over.”

Alucard rolls his eyes, strikes Belmont’s face with the flat of his sword. The man swears yet doesn’t budge, and Alucard has tried; tried to not harm him but it suddenly smells of blood, and it’s coming from a brand new cut on his cheek. Alucard grits his teeth. It smells good; but unlike before. It’s more earthy and musky this time; Belmont’s natural fragrance without the alcohol sweetening it. Alucard wants to reach up and taste, find out what’s different now.

“Quit it,” Belmont says, and has his own sword pressed against Alucard’s throat. The silver blade burns the dhampir’s skin, enough to make him hiss and squirm and writhe. Belmont hands, tightly gripping the handle of his weapon, tremble a slightest bit.

Alucard stills himself and grasps at his last vestige of dignity. He forces himself to calm down.

“Let go,” he grits. “I’m not feral.”

He expects a cheeky reply, but Belmont doesn’t say anything. He withdraws his weapon silently; looks straight ahead then curses and quickly jumps up and away from the dhampir. There is obviously something wrong, Alucard muses, and when he pushes himself up, he sees red, demonic, eyes in the darkness of the forest, staring at them.

_Demons._

“Sypha?” Alucard calls. Beside him, Belmont shakes his head.

“She’s been gone to the village since we began to spar,” he says, side-glances the dhampir, then eyes the village’s half crumbling church. “It’s you and me, vampire. Think you can’t keep up? They’re not as nice as me.”

Alucard keeps his doubts silent.

 

\- - -

 

Of course, Sypha comes back and saves the day (or, more accurately, the night) with an impressive display of her powers, trapping demons in icy walls before she obliterates them with fire. How could Sypha think she was useless? Alucard wonders, beside a bemused Belmont. Her spells are strong, and don’t seem to have drained much of her energy.

By the time they are finished with the hell spawns, Belmont is genuinely impressed and proud of her, and Alucard swears he won’t ever think about berating her about her choices of training. If anything, he would be honored to have her teach him how to correctly canalize his magical powers.

Alucard’s own spells are strong, but sap his energy too quickly. He has been taught by his father, after all, to use them like a pure-blooded vampire would: without any restrain, without any thought; almost impulsively. But if Alucard could find a way to cast his spells without leaving him slow and weakened, it would be quite useful.

Sypha beams at both Belmont and Alucard, runs to join them, almost trips on her robe. The three of them are covered with demon flesh and blood, stink like death, but they don’t care. Sypha smiles, Belmont picks his ear, and Alucard wipes demons’ guts off his blade.

It’s terrible, how the horror of the world is becoming a normal part of their journey.

Alucard’s hands shake around the handle of his sword. He shouldn’t have used his power recklessly in a moment of pure pettiness, when he sparred with Belmont. That, with the fight they just had with monsters and his own growing hunger, make him weak and faint; his face paler than usual. It’s probably bad,  _very_  bad, because Belmont doesn’t seem mocking, when he tilts his head, and ask with a frown, “You alright, vampire?”

“No.”

At least the demons’ stench is enough to mask the scent of Belmont’s multiple cuts. The hunter purses his lips. He doesn’t dare approach the dhampir, and it’s a clear evidence there’s something wrong. The man is rarely preoccupied. He would have threatened him to stake him; or at least provoked him, under any other circumstances.

“You should sit down,” Belmont advises instead.

“Is he hurt? I know some healing spells,” Sypha says, already rummaging around her, trying to find a clear spot where Alucard can lie down.

She stops when Belmont shakes his head and grimaces.

“He isn’t hurt, he’s  _hungry_.”

“And he is right here and listening,” Alucard grits out, then adds, more softly, “Sypha, would you kindly leave us for a moment, please?”

Sypha blinks, at first offended to be cast aside, but then turns a little flustered when she realizes why Alucard asks for privacy. She probably heard the silly theories about the pleasure vampires bites can bring; fantasies of young women dreaming about an immortal love.

“Right. I’ll... Clean myself. In the inn,” she stutters.

Belmont snorts derisively as he watches Sypha’s silhouette disappears and his amusement turns into a surprised curse when Alucard grips his collar and  _pulls_.

“What-” Belmont begins, only to shut up when Alucard licks the cut of his cheek, the one he has inflicted him during their spar, in a moment of pure insanity. The dhampir wouldn’t have chosen this wound to taste, but the hunter’s face is the only place demons’ entrails haven’t touched.

Belmont’s blood is still sweet, even without the alcohol, Alucard realizes, and he wants to taste again; finds himself unable to. Belmont’s whip has been winded around his neck and he is sharply, painfully, tugged away. The hunter doesn’t look really mad or suspicious, but he is frowning, studying Alucard’s face.

“It is as bad as last time?” he asks.

“It wasn’t,” Alucard replies, voice hoarse with want. “But it is _worse_ now. I shouldn’t have used my powers. I should have known there would be an attack.”

“Not my problem if you’re a show off,” Belmont scoffs, but doesn’t push the dhampir away. He let the handle of his whip go, pulling his sleeve up in deft movements. “Same rules as before. No-”

“-biting, I only feed from the cut you inflict yourself, and I stop when you say so. I believe you still want the whip around my neck, too?” Alucard completes.

Belmont nods, then tugs his whip, testing its tightness around Alucard who only scrunches up his nose.

“No need to cut myself this time, though” the hunter grins. “Demons already have me all battered and bleeding.”

Alucard hums absentmindedly, already peering at the veins pulsing through the skin of Belmont’s arm. If only he could bite, it would be quicker, better.

He takes a deep breath, huffs, and lowers his head down.  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The blood drinking will be detailed in the next chapter ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> Also, did I casually put Alucard's in game powers in my fic? Yes I did.


	5. Chapter 5

Blood is always warm. It smoothly slides in Alucard’s stomach; coats his tongue and his mouth in thick crimson; drips from his chin and disappears into the black of his coat.

It’s messy, Alucard thinks, and disgraceful, but unlike last time, he has more room to move around Belmont’s cuts, and it means he can gather much more blood, feed himself more quickly. Alucard can’t help being thankful.

He licks the cuts on Belmont’s arm, enjoys the hunter’s blood while forcing himself to not show it. Alucard is ashamed by his fundamental needs, feels unsettled by his urge to bite, to break, and to tear. Again, he wants more than what Belmont gives. He wants to feel taken over by the warmth of his blood, lighting up his body, heating up his limbs, and making jump his slow beating heart.

It’s so strong, this hunger, that Alucard, in an instant of clarity, worries to go too far. He isn’t worsening the wounds, nor drawing an unreasonable amount of blood from them, but it feels wrong, so wrong. It feels as if he is a mindless monster preying on an injured man; not so different from the sliced up, scorched, demons scattered around them.

Alucard draws back an instant, looks up to see intense blue eyes staring down at him. Belmont watches and studies the dhampir’s face; from his golden hair to his ruby red eyes to his sharp nose, only stopping when he sees his blood making Alucard’s mouth glisten; a stark contrast with the creature’s usual pallor.

Belmont’s voice is hoarse as he finally speaks, cracking between each syllable, yet still derisive and smug, “You really need to do it like that, huh, vampire?”

Alucard feels shame burn his face; hopes it is not obvious, that it is only the sunburn of his cheek healing up; but no, of course it’s not. Belmont raises an eyebrow.

“For fucks sake, I’m joking,” he grumbles, a little guiltily, scrunching up his nose. He looks away, at the fringe of the forest. “I know I’m not making anything easy for you. Go on.”

Alucard doesn’t say anything. It frustrates him, how his human side is only here to betray his emotions and thoughts, and so he hastily turns back to Belmont’s wounds and cuts, licks and laps them again, this time with more precaution. _Not an animal_ , he repeats in his mind, over and over.

The whip is still securely tied around Alucard’s neck, the leather burning the back of his neck and under his jaw, though the hunter’s grip grows lax as the minutes pass. Is he growing tired? Has he fainted? Alucard stops drinking, lightly grazes his fangs against the man’s skin, a simple provocation to keep him sharp.

He doesn’t expect Belmont’s breath to _stutter_.

Alucard flicks his eyes up in alarm, only to see Belmont with his cheeks burning red and his lips slightly parted. He is looking down, pupils blown wide and taking over his irises, and oh. _Oh_. Alucard is startled away, but entangled in the whip, and its handle escapes Belmont’s slack grasp. The holy weapon still digs enough in Alucard’s skin to make him hiss.

The pain momentarily blinds him from Belmont's movements, and Alucard only realizes he has leaned over him and buried a hand in blonde hair when he sharply _pulls_. The dhampir is too taken aback to resist, and looks dazedly at the hunter's face, suddenly too close. His wounded cheek still smells sweet and musky and Alucard, in a moment of pure madness, licks it. Belmont’s hand in his hair clench, and the dhampir whimpers.

“I’m,” Belmont gasp, breathing sharply, looking seemingly lost by his own actions. His gaze is wandering between Alucard’s eyes and lips. “I just...”

He clears his throat. With the distant fire of the village as the only source of light, Belmont’s features would be, under any circumstances, difficult to see; but they are close, so close, Alucard can notice every little emotion painted on the hunter’s face.

And it is quite a surprise, really, to see Trevor Belmont, last son of house Belmont, skilled vampire hunter and future savior of humankind, _flustered_.

Alucard isn’t stranger to attraction and want, and there is a certain satisfaction in seeing Belmont red and stuttering like this, sat in a middle of a gruesome chaos, legs spread to accommodate Alucard's body, on four in front of him.

But this taste of power also comes with confusion. Aren’t humans supposed to, at least, appreciate each other, to react like this? Belmont has only showed contempt, and the rare displays of concern were more about his own safety than anything else. Alucard tilts his head, the whip still around his neck but the pain dull. Does Belmont _like_ danger?

As if he heard the silent question, Belmont lets go of Alucard’s hair, drawing a sharp breath. His hands drop on his thighs.

Alucard doesn’t understand. The man is a riddle full of contradictions. He would harm anyone offending him in terrifying shows of violence, yet still care deeply for humankind; dislikes loss of control, but downs more alcohol than water; and now, he is flustered by a creature he has obviously sworn to despise and kill.

Humans are so complex, Alucard thinks, crawling over Belmont, studying intently his expressions. Vampires like or dislike things and people. They don’t have multiple layers of gray, they don’t contradict themselves. His father loves his mother, values intelligence and initiative, hates humans. It is easy to understand, almost too simplistic, far from Belmont’s obvious conflicting emotions.

“God you should really stop thinking that much,” Belmont says, close enough to have his breath ghost over Alucard’s features. He has backed a little bit away, but is still _so_ close. He clears is throat, tries to brush aside the tension, with both his casual words and a wave of his hand. “It’s been a long time since I... Anyway.”

Belmont shakes his head, as if he doesn’t know why he should explain himself to the dhampir, and pushes himself up. When he takes off his whip from Alucard’s neck, his hands are shaking. He takes great care to not make any contact, and his eyes are immediately cast down when Alucard stares at him.

It’s... unnerving, Alucard muses, after having the man’s heat all over his body; beneath his hands and his lips for so long. Still, Alucard doesn’t try to call him back when he trots to the village, steps surprisingly stable.

 

\- - -

 

As they progress to Targoviste, the attacks grow more frequent, enough to grant Alucard the luxury to _not_ think about whatever happened back near the small village.

He has to stay vigilant at all times, as the foul creatures of his father’s army are everywhere. Sometimes, they hide in the shades of a dense forest; sometimes under the roof of an abandoned house. This time, Belmont finds a demon trying to ambush them hidden under a wooden cart, making him grumble and swear for long, long hours.

“They’re growing smart,” Belmont grouses, almost offended, taking care to peek inside an abandoned merchant bag before he deals a blow with his short sword, just in case. “Who even teaches them strategy, anyway? Your father?”

Alucard rolls his eyes and huffs. He pulls the reins of his horse, and catches up with Sypha without a word. Belmont mutters something under his breath that suspiciously sounds like an insult.

Of course, it’s in this exact moment that Belmont’s horse decides to die.

Well, Alucard doesn’t see it die, but it doesn’t really change the grim outcome. The horse neighs in front of a demon that appears out of nowhere, red eyes glinting and fangs out, throws Belmont off its back, and runs away. Knowing how dangerous the roads are, Alucard gives the mount a single day before it’s caught by demons or wolves.

“Fucking hell,” Belmont curses, hastily tearing the demon apart with his whip, to shout, voice loud and tone irritated, “come back, you dumb horse, I have carrots for-. Urgh, fucking idiot.”

He sighs, groans with frustration and defeat. Alucard ignores him and turns his attention to Sypha, who looks at him with curiosity.

Their travel has so obviously wearied her down, but she hasn’t uttered a single complaint. The locks of her hair have turned greasy, her Speaker robe stained with dried blood and torn. Its sleeves are a little charred from the repeated use of her powers, leaving them black and holed. Otherwise, despite her appearance, Sypha seems healthy enough -despite the bags under her eyes-.

“Sypha,” Alucard calls her, voice soft. He offers her a gentle smile. “Can your horse afford to carry both you and Belmont? I am afraid mine wouldn’t stand the weight of two grown men.”

‘ _I wouldn't stand Belmont neither_ ’ is left unspoken, but the Speaker-magician is graceful enough to not comment on it, instead nodding and stopping her horse. She lets Belmont climb and straddle the mount clumsily, rolls her eyes when he almost immediately clings on Sypha for dear life. The absence of a second saddle makes him slide precariously from one side to another when they move again.

“I hate this,” Belmont complains, his head buried in Sypha’s hood. “And my testicles  _really_ hate this.”

Sypha huffs, makes a disgusted face. She abruptly stops her horse on purpose, and Belmont falls down in a loud yelp and a dull thud on the snowy path.

“They definitely hated this, alright” Belmont groans.

Alucard tries to hide a snicker.

“It would imply they exist,” he sniffs. “Which is quite doubtful, with you.”

Sypha barks out a laugh while Belmont makes an undignified noise. He stays on the ground, doesn’t make any attempt at standing up. Alucard watches them both, repressing a chuckle.

He has contemplated the idea of friendship, of course, with Sypha being prone to share and sometimes _over_ share her stories. It’s pleasant enough, sometimes strange and frustrating. But overall, he enjoys Sypha’s guidance when she trains him to canalize his magic, and also her fiery temper and her compassion. It’s refreshing to get to know someone so intent to help people in this world turned upside down.

Belmont, in the other hand, is... Something else. Is it friendship if their relationship is more focused on competition instead of communication? They both become petty when they spar, try to undo each other with low techniques and dirty moves; can’t refrain themselves from making harsh, mocking remarks at any occasion.

It's embarrassing, childish, and unworthy of Alucard’s upbringing, but it’s sometimes nice. Despite the appearances, Belmont now laughs more _with_ him than _at_ him, and it’s good enough. There’s no real heat in their bickering, not anymore.

Alucard huffs, and looks down on Belmont still on the ground. He shouldn’t be emotional with humans. They are fragile, a brief moment in any vampire’s immortal life.

His eyes meets the hunter’s blue ones, warm and still amused by something Sypha just said; and there’s a spark, something that shouldn’t be here, that settles deep inside his stomach. It’s almost as visceral as hunger, but it’s warmer, stronger; a pull and a push at the same time, both in his chest and his guts.

Alucard immediately reins his horse away, and hopes there’s a lot of demons in their way.

  
\- - -

 

They have spent the night and the early morning fighting through a horde of sneaky demons, and by noon, Alucard is sleeping like a log, his whole body covered by his coat. Only his feet stick out, black leather on white snow, and Alucard wonders if he looks like a corpse, lying like that, when he wakes up late afternoon.

He looks blearily through the tiny holes of his coat’s fabric, catches a glimpse of the pink sky. It’s not dusk yet, and Alucard knows he can still rest a little bit; but Sypha’s voice, hushed and full of wonder, makes him want to stay very, _very_ still and listen.

“I didn’t know you could write, Trevor,” she says. “Is it a story?”

Belmont doesn’t immediately reply. Alucard hears a page being turned, and a quill scratching paper for a couple of seconds. Then, the man sighs.

“No, they are notes, for the bestiary,” the hunter murmurs. Something made of glass, probably an inkwell, clinks; followed by new scratches. “I need to write this down, in case we... In case we die, you know. And since it’s probably going to happen...”

Despite being still buried under his coat, Alucard knows Belmont enough now, to picture him shrugging noncommittally.

“You do know most people can’t read, don’t you?” Sypha says, a little taken aback. She is, without a doubt, frowning. “ _I_ can’t read.”

“Really? I thought you could, but that’s to be expected,” Belmont mutters. “The old Speakers don’t want to risk any one of you writing down your spoken history, are they?”

Sypha hums in agreement, wistful.

“I wish I could read, though. I’m sure there are so many interesting stories.”

Belmont doesn’t reply, and Sypha doesn’t ask anything else. There is a moment of silence, only punctuated by the regular scrape of Belmont’s quill; and Alucard is afraid his two companions have discovered his deception. He self-consciously stills himself even more, closes his eyes, and pretends to be asleep even if he is quite sure his body is too tense to appear natural.

“If we survive this hell, I’ll teach you how to read,” Belmont finally says. “It’s not very complicated.”

“Really?” Sypha replies and it’s quite amusing how eagerness reaches her voice, making it lighter, higher. “Thank you, it’s- _Wait_.”

Belmont curses. Alucard’s fingers instantly drum on the cloth he is sleeping on; his hands itching for his blade. Are they under attack again? The sun isn’t set yet, but it wouldn’t be a surprise to see demons, since Targoviste is so close now. _Damn_. How many are they? Has Alucard been so preoccupied to eavesdrop that he hasn't noticed anything?

But then, Sypha _laughs_.

“I didn’t know you could draw too,” she exclaims, then hushes herself with a gasp, thinking about Alucard’s slumber. She whispers excitedly, “Is that Adrian?”

Belmont groans, embarrassed. Alucard hears the book snap shut. “It's for my bestiary, I have nothing on half-breeds.”

Snow crunches under Belmont’s boots as he stands up and hastily goes away.

Sypha, behind him, only  _cackles_.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be careful, this fic is now Explicit.

Targoviste is within reach, visible from the forest where the hunter, the scholar and the soldier stand. It looks calm under the cloudless sky, as if nothing has ever happened in the city. The walls are still clean and intact, hiding all the chaos and the horror from any reckless soul traveling there. But Alucard knows better. The snow melts around the city, revealing scorched and dry grass underneath; and there is only silence, silence and the pungent, heavy stench of death.

Alucard wonders if Belmont and Sypha can smell it, too.

He knows Sypha is sadly growing used to the reek, and that it is doesn’t even faze Belmont, but it doesn’t mean Alucard wants them to smell it. It’s useless, to try to shield them from the horror his father has unleashed upon Wallachia, especially since their goal implies dealing with it, yet he wants to try whenever he can; lets them think about something else than death and rot.

“I don’t see your father’s castle,” Belmont’s says.

His voice resounds in the forest and he winces, scratching the back of his head. Sypha purses her lips, clearly refraining herself to swat him.

She listens to the trees around them, attentive to any strange movement or sounds before she relaxes. She doesn’t say anything; has been quite silent for a couple of hours. It’s strange, Alucard notes, but doesn't comment on it. He knows the Speaker to be tense, and doesn't want to pry.

Noticing that no one replies, Belmont continues, his voice lowered into a whisper and his eyebrows knit in a frown.

“Isn’t the castle supposed to be floating in the sky or some shit like that?”

Alucard notices Sypha jumping behind them, trying to catch a glimpse of the city. He steps aside before she falls or twists her ankle.

“But the castle can be anywhere, isn’t it?” the Speaker muses, peering up. “It can be underground, maybe.”

Alucard agrees with a nod. “And it can be elsewhere, while still being here.”

Belmont scoffs, sniffs. “I... don’t understand. It can be anywhere, yeah right, I got that. But two places at the same time?”

“The castle isn’t anchored to a single place like your buildings, your houses and your churches,” Alucard explains slowly. “It is between two worlds, a limbo, where we can see, to a certain extent, everything. We can also reach out, from it.”

“Wait, how can we even find the castle if Dracula sees us coming?” Belmont says. “Aren’t we just going to our death?”

“My father regards human lives lowly,” Alucard replies with a shrug. “He won’t see much of a threat in two humans and a half-breed he already defeated once.”

Belmont rolls his eyes and says, sarcasm dripping for each word, “Well, that’s inspirational. Thank you.”

Alucard huffs and ignores him. “It would be better to stop for today. Going further without proper rest would be foolish.”

It's almost night already, and they all agree on that. The weather is getting even colder lately, sapping Alucard’s companions’ energy and morale. The dhampir isn’t too bothered by it; his sense of touch is dulled, after all. He also sees the benefits of longer nights and is selfish enough to appreciate them.

But as he sees Sypha and Belmont pressed up together in front of a conjured up fireball, exhausted and shivering, Alucard wishes he could help.

“Why are you staring?” Belmont says. It startles Alucard enough to make him jump, just a little. “You hungry?”

There’s no heat nor provocation in his words. It’s almost a genuine wondering, and Alucard thinks it’s so, so wrong. No human should be used to be a vampire blood sack. It’s reckless, dangerous, and stupid.

The blood-letting, with the bruises of the fights, have taken a toll on the hunter’s health. While Sypha, beside him, is snoring softly on his shoulder, head nestled onto the white fur of the his coat; Belmont is shaking, pale, and his voice is weak.

Alucard’s heart ache. He wishes the first humans he grows to appreciate wouldn’t be pulled into this chaos, this fear, and this death. Only a week and a half have passed since the beginning of their journey, and Sypha is still so young, so innocent; while Belmont has just started to show how much he cares for this broken world.

It’s unfair, so unfair that a prophecy, uttered by some old Speaker, should lead them to their death. It feels like choices and free will have been stripped from them; but then, the world has always been unfair, isn't it? And Alucard should have known since his mother has been burned alive.

“You’re still staring,” Belmont singsongs. “Am I that good-looking?”

Alucard doesn’t dare to reply, at first, for it would betray all he tried to hide these lasts few days. He only sniffs disdainfully, and says, when he is absolutely sure that his mouth wouldn’t betray his thoughts, “no”.

Belmont snickers, obviously amused. “No for the hunger, or the good-looking part? Please don’t break my heart.”

“For both,” Alucard replies with a dramatic roll of his eyes. Belmont laughs, his shoulders shaking enough to wake Sypha up.

“What?” she blearily asks, squinting at the myriad of tiny fireballs shining around them.

“Go back to sleep,” Belmont says, almost affectionately, gently tucking her on a pile of cloth. When Sypha begins to protest, obviously loving the warmth of the hunter’s fur-trimmed cloak, he adds softly, “It’ll be more comfortable than my shoulder.”

A few seconds pass, and after a yawn, she is snoring again. Belmont watches her for a moment, his face wistful, then turns his attention on Alucard. He hasn’t stopped staring.

“You sure you’re not hungry? We’ll be fighting your father, and we need you ready.”

“I am ready,” Alucard replies, scrunching up his nose. “You should be worried about yourself. You’re a mess.”

“Wow, great, thanks, I really appreciate it,” Belmont mutters. “But seriously, I...”

“Sleep. We’ll leave as soon as the sun rises. I will stand watch for the time being.”

Alucard stalks away without a single glance behind, goes deep into the wood and far from the soft light of the fire, far from Belmont and Sypha; far from anything that make his heart ache and his eyes burn. He so, _so_ wants to believe everything will be alright and easy; that defeating his father is only a matter of rest and good spirit. But it’s not, isn’t it? His father could wipe out whole cities in mere minutes.

He remembers when his mother died, when fire rained from the sky. Alucard couldn’t stop that.

And now his father has assembled an army of demons; demons that lacerated his companions and Alucard himself, drove them to exhaustion, made them weak and easy to kill. Perhaps Dracula wouldn’t even deign to step out of his castle for them, tomorrow, when they’ll fight. Perhaps he will just watch, from there, as his minions tear their flesh from their bones, gouge their eyes from their skull.

Alucard isn’t prone to rage, but he is so angry. How can he, in a little more of a week, come to care so much? Humans killed his mother. Humans are lost in their lies and their pathetic worries. And the whole of humankind is only a weak, fragile, flicker of light.

And Alucard is... He is part of them, now. He stands with them, with his mother; yet there is something unsatisfying in thinking that his heart is with a weaker, losing, race.

“You can’t stand watch from here.”

The dhampir doesn’t have to turn back to know it’s Belmont; but the hunter isn’t smug, isn’t mocking. He stares, almost worryingly, at Alucard, and Alucard’s can’t stand it.

“What do you want,” he grits, casting his gaze down to avoid the pity he begins to see in the hunter’s blue eyes. “I told you to rest.”

“I can’t rest. We’re supposed to end all of _this_ ,” Belmont scoffs, tilting his chin towards Targoviste, “in a couple of hours. How am I supposed to rest?”

Alucard doesn’t comment, and Belmont walks to him, cursing as he trips on roots. The night is young enough for him to find his way to the dhampir’s level without too much effort, and Alucard can soon feel a piercing gaze on him. He still keeps his eyes turned to the ground.

“Are you here to mock, Belmont?”

“No,” the hunter replies. “I’m here to make sure you’re fine.”

Alucard sniffs.

“I will not endanger you, or Sypha, or our mission, if it is what you fear. Now go, and leave me.”

“No, I... Why are you- I- Fuck,” Belmont stutters, frustration making him fumbling with words. He grips at a retreating Alucard’s arm so tightly it almost hurts, before he tries again. “Stop being... Stop-”

Belmont pulls and forces the dhampir to face him, and he only has a split-second to reorient himself before their lips meet.

It’s unexpected and expected at the same time. Alucard has, after all, noticed Belmont’s glances and stares; but he is too taken back to react, at first. It’s more a press of the hunter’s dry lips on his than a real kiss. When Alucard does recover, though, a couple of seconds later, he _bites_.

“Don’t look down on me,” Alucard snarls when they part. He is still close enough to see Belmont’s hair move at each word he says, to notice the gold of his eyes reflected in the blue of his. His lips and his tongue are sweet, and he is afraid by how he already wants more.

“I’m not,” Belmont breathes, drags his hand on his mouth and smears blood on his chin, as if he wants to wipe it away. “I’m not looking down on you.”

“What are you trying to do, then?” the dhampir asks.

“I thought it was obvious,” the hunter snorts derisively. “I’m trying to seduce you.”

“Now of all times?”

“Please. That’ll be fun, and we don’t talk about it the morning.”

The hunter’s voice is even, almost bored, as if he doesn’t care; but Alucard hears a stutter in the regular beat of his heart. It’s not arousal, though, nor fear or adrenaline. It’s the stutter of a lying man, and Alucard draws a sharp breath.

“Fine,” he finds himself breathing. His mind immediately tells him it is a mistake.

“Good.”

Their second kiss is as tentative as the first, and it’s strange enough for Alucard to scrunch up his nose, making Belmont laugh a little. It’s a little strained and painful to hear, and the dhampir ignores it, wills himself to be carried away.

If they are truly dying soon, it’s not such a bad idea, isn’t it, Alucard wants to think as he reaches up, cups Belmont face carefully, licks his lips. He can’t find pleasure in tasting the blood on his tongue, not anymore, even if it’s still sweet like honey and wine; and Alucard only sighs in satisfaction when Belmont presses harder, grabs his collar and pulls him close.

“Don’t be shy,” the hunter says with a low chuckle. “It’s nothing serious.”

Alucard knows it is _not_ nothing, though. He never found anything special in a first kiss, or a first embrace, or in a first caress; but Belmont is lying, his heart beating too fast, jumping and stuttering too much for this - _hands on cheeks, tongues meeting, lips pressing_ \- to be nothing.

“Belmont,” Alucard protests between two kisses. His chest is tight and warm at the same time. He doesn’t know what he wants. His body craves for the man’s contact; yet his mind tells him to stop.

“Trevor,” the hunter says. “My name’s Trevor.”

“I know that.”

Trevor laughs, presses his forehead on Alucard’s shoulder. His breath turns to mist, his eyes are closed, and it’s oddly intimate how they are, standing, in each other’s arms. The dhampir pulls him into in another kiss, and when they part, he only says, “Adrian”.

“Nice to meet you,” Trevor snickers. “Can we get to something more interesting, now?”

Alucard is quick to learn that Trevor is an honest man, yet not in the conventional sort of way. He doesn’t use words to express how he feels, distances himself from intimacy with humor and mockery.

His honesty is found in the way he stares at Alucard kneel in front of him to reach the belt of his pants, in the way he quivers when a kiss is pressed in his thigh, in the way he shudders when a hand caresses his stomach, in the way he hisses when a cold breath brushes his half-hard cock.

Alucard is as silent as Trevor and save for the sharp intake of his breath; for the lewd, slick sound of Alucard’s tongue on Trevor’s cock; for his muffled moans; there are no words, not a single thing, to stop them. 

“If you bite,” Trevor says, cheeks noticeably red despite the darkness around them, “I’ll kill you.”

Alucard chuckles, licks his lips.

“But you like, it, don’t you?” he sneers. “ _Danger_.”

Trevor turns even redder. As always, he doesn’t say anything, instead buries his hand in Alucard’s hair, urging him to go on; and Alucard does, shrugging off his coat as he closes his eyes and presses open kisses on Trevor’s shaft. It’s intoxicating to have so much power over a man that can kill him in a flick of his wrist. Alucard is already drunk with it.

He grabs Trevor’s hips, forces him away from his mouth, and pushes him down, lying him on the coat he just took off. Trevor hisses, still feeling the cold of the snow bite his back through the fabric.

“Can you see ?” Alucard asks, crawling over the man.

“Not as much as you,” Trevor breathes, disheveled and chest heaving, “but I see you.”

“Good,” Alucard says with a smile. “Then watch me.”

Trevor doesn’t say anything. He gulps, staring at Alucard’s hands as he unbuckles his belts, freeing his own aching erection. The hunter makes a little noise in the back of his throat, making Alucard chuckle.

“Shut up,” Trevor grouses, reaching up to grab Alucard’s collar, flipping their position.

He straddles the dhampir, lips parted and breath ragged and Alucard looks up, knowing full well that the gold of his eyes is molten and warm as he watches Trevor grind down, chocking on his moans.

And all of this, all of this moment, it’s not nothing, Alucard thinks again, desperately, as he grasps Trevor’s hips, guiding him as they thrust their cock together, slick and messy and perfect. It’s not nothing, because Trevor’s honesty in found in all the small details he reluctantly shows; in the way his hand searches for his, in the frustrated bite of his lower lip, in the way his eyes shine too much with emotions.

“It's just a one time thing, right,” Trevor asks, sweaty and smiling and hoping.

"Of course," Alucard replies.

He feels his own heart stutter.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be honest, smut isn't my forte, but I really wanted to make something more... Emotional than just sex.


	7. Chapter 7

“I can’t believe you left me alone last night to...”

Sypha is gesturing wildly around her with her hands, a blush dusting the fair skin of her cheeks. She looks angry and flustered at the same time, and it is quite strange, Alucard thinks, to have this conversation when they are treading carefully into the ruins of Targoviste.

A wooden plank groans above them. Trevor immediately tenses up, then relaxes when Alucard shakes his head: it is only the result of a scorched house blown by the wind. The hunter huffs, narrows his eyes, and spits on a pool of darkened blood.

“Adrian wasn’t feeling well,” he mutters, scratching the back of his neck, looking up at the sky. “And we all know you don’t need us at all anyway.”

“I am not stupid, Trevor,” Sypha immediately retorts with a disdainful sniff. “And certainly not _deaf_.”

Alucard grimaces. He tries to hide his embarrassment by walking headfirst, hoping that Trevor wouldn’t do, or say, anything mortifying. But of course, the hunter doesn’t care and _chuckles_ , the fur of his coat shaking, making Sypha sigh. She doesn’t say anything else.

“Is it a problem, Sypha?” Alucard finally asks, halting his walk to let the Speaker and the hunter catch up with him. He makes an aborted movement of his hand between Trevor and himself. “Is your God demanding you to despise this, or us?”

Sypha shrugs, minutely stops as if she needs to think, then continues to move.

“I have never thought about it,” she admits, her sad and tired eyes on the ruins of Targoviste and its mountains of rotting corpses. “And it is not important, now. I dwell in magic and am friends with a vampire. It would be hypocritical of me to judge you.”

She falls silent, and behind her, Trevor raises an eyebrow then shrugs. Alucard would never comment on it, but the hunter seems relieved of Sypha’s understanding. He, like Alucard, would hate to be subject to even more needless accusations and hate, especially from someone they care.

“It’s a one time thing anyway,” Trevor mutters as he passes by, and Alucard tries to quell the dull pain in his chest.

They don’t have the time for this, he thinks fiercely. They are heading into a war they are already losing, and they can’t afford to be distracted. All of these useless feelings and emotions, hanging between Trevor and himself, can wait. Wallachia, Europe; the world, even, can’t. If they fail, who would stop Dracula?

Alucard wills himself to focus and rests a steady hand on the hilt of his sword.

Sypha makes a face, quickly uses the sleeve of her robe to cover her nose and her mouth as they reach a barricade of bloated corpses. The smell is strong enough for Alucard to taste it in the back of his nose, and both the view and the stench make him sick. He grimaces, and even Trevor has his lips pursed tight.

“A warning,” Alucard says, scrunching up his nose. “I suggest we continue to the left.”

Trevor grunts in agreement, his face pinched, while Sypha hastily nods. Alucard guesses she would agree to anything as long as they don’t stay here.

“There’s no one,” Trevor says after a while, when they are far enough of the smell. It still reeks, the thick stench caught in their throat, but it’s already more breathable. “Guess they’re not expecting us.”

Sypha hums in agreement. “The sun helps too, I think. Demons would not risk themselves.”

“Of course they won’t,” Alucard mutters. “They are my father’s minions, but they are lazy. If they are sure we stand no chance, they won’t try to stop us. We’re a waste of time, for them.”

“How nice of them,” Trevor bites out, rolling his eyes. “But we still don’t know where’s the castle.”

“We’ll find it.”

“Hopefully before it finds us,” Sypha says gloomily. “It is even here?”

Alucard shrugs. “My father is fond of... Messages. He will stay not very far from where my mother was killed, to set an example. The castle is somewhere in this city.”

“You mentioned Lupu, before, though.”

“Yes, but now that I am here... I am sure it is here. I can feel it.”

Trevor laughs, relief washing over him. “Oh, yes, thanks. I can’t bear with all that walking anymore. I’m sure I’ll need to cut my toes if we go on.”

“How can you be worried for your _toes_ when we are here to save people?” Sypha grouses, blinking in disbelief.

The hunter only snickers.

“Can’t walk with missing toes. And no walking means no saving,” he explains.

Sypha scrunches up her nose in exasperation, doesn’t reply, and turns her attention to Alucard. He watches silently his two companions bickering. He is used to it, and it’s almost quite comforting, to find familiarity in this chaos. It’s something regular, one of the rare things that Alucard can wait for in a world of uncertainty.

“You said you could feel the castle,” Sypha carefully says after a while, gently stirring Alucard out of his musings. “How so?”

“It was my home, once” Alucard mutters, staring straight in front of him. “I can hear it and feel it under my skin; its whirs and its machines.”

“You know where it is, then?” Trevor asks.

Alucard shakes his head.

“No. The castle has changed since my mother was killed. It’s... closed off and lost to me.”

Trevor stays silent after that, and Alucard realizes that maybe he is thinking about his own family, his estate; and how everything is lost to him too. The Belmont name is heavy to bear, Alucard thinks, as is the name Tepes. Without a word, he reaches out and puts a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder.

The hunter doesn’t shrug it off and Alucard silently swears he’ll find them a place to belong.

 

\- - -

 

  
Thunderstorms in winter aren’t unheard of, but rare enough for Alucard to know there is something wrong the second he hears the crack of a lightning hitting the paved ground; the ruined houses; the trees. Sypha gasps, Trevor grits his teeth, and a gust of wind tears down their hood and dishevel them.

The castle is here, floating in front of them, and Alucard has thought about it. He has thought about looking at what used to be his home and long for it; thought about going back into the castle and beg for forgiveness; thought about his family and the regret he would feel.

But Alucard chest doesn’t ache. He only finds determination as a swarm of bats gathers together into a strangely reddened sky; the work of his father, no doubt.

Soon, the three companions find themselves staring up at Dracula’s face made of bats, and Trevor, of course, _snorts_. Both Sypha and Alucard throw him a glare.

“I know why you’re so dramatic now,” the man comments, chuckling lowly.

Alucard wants to reply, because Trevor laughing now is as incomprehensible as endearing. He quickly refrains himself when his father finally speaks.

“Son,” his voice roars in the silence. It’s not full of contempt, it’s not angry, it’s just... Tired and jaded. Alucard tilts his head, puzzled. “Come home, son.”

“Should have thought about that before trying to cut him in half”, Trevor immediately seethes, a hand on his whip. “You lost the right to call him ‘ _son_ ’ the second you tried to kill him, vampire.”

The head moves, looks down where Trevor stands beside Alucard. The hunter doesn’t seem anything close to afraid, but his fingers are trembling too much for the dhampir to tell. Unfortunately, his father notices it too.

“Is it who you are now, son?” this time, there is contempt and disappointment in his voice, and Alucard tries to not flinch. “A human sympathizer, and a witch’s puppet?”

“I am no witch,” Sypha protests. Her voice quivers and dies in her throat when his father stares at her, a predatory, disgusted, smirk on his lips.

The poor Speaker is terrified, and so is Trevor. Alucard can’t blame them. His own hands are shaking, and he has to grasp the hilt of his sword tighter in an attempt to stop the tremors.

Alucard isn’t afraid for himself. He fought his father head on, once, and can do it again. As a dhampir, if he does lose the battle, he can still retreat and repeat the same circle as before: rest, get found, venture forth with new companions.

He is worried for Sypha, though, the only one of them who has a family waiting for her; and also Trevor. He is starting the give this world another chance, and Alucard would hate to see his father take it away from him. He wants to protect his companions with his blade and claws and fangs; would tear flesh and break bones for the two of them, because death is permanent, with humankind, and Alucard hates it.

The silence is telling enough, for Dracula. He frowns, his chin tilting up in disdain. Alucard draws a shaky breath and readies himself. He can hear the demons crawling around them, hissing and clawing planks of wood and shiny white rocks as the sky grows unnaturally darker under his father’s influence.

Without a word nor a warning, Sypha flicks her wrist and ice walls come up from the ground, protecting their backs while still leaving an escape route on their right side. Her eyes are fierce and steady.

“I see you stand with animals,” Dracula sneers. “Very well. I’ll see them put down like the filthy beasts they are.”

A throwing knife flies up and pierces a bat or two in the swarm that forms Dracula’s face; Alucard doesn’t see much. He immediately knows it’s an useless move from Trevor, though, and the dhampir wishes the hunter wouldn’t provoke his father into commanding his minions to attack them now. But then he sees Trevor frown, his hand playing with the hilt of another throwing knife, and he looks _murderous_.

“These _animals_ are like your wife, with dreams and hope and fears,” he hisses at Dracula. “Some of them are innocents, some others are not. But they will always be more than you’ll ever be, vampire.”

Dracula’s upper twitch with irritation, and Alucard steps closer to Trevor.

“Do not provoke him, Trevor,” the dhampir quietly pleads, even if he is well aware that his father can hear every words he says. “His minions have surrounded us, and only Sypha’s walls are protecting us now.”

“I don’t care,” Trevor grits, his blue eyes cool and focused on Dracula’s face. “Let them come, I’ll just kill them one by one before I get to him.”

Alucard roughly grasps Trevor’s arm.

“Stop believing you’re alone, Trevor,” Alucard says. “Stop thinking it is your fight and not Sypha’s, or mine.”

Trevor’s features grows softer for a moment with shock, as if he never thought about fighting with companions, about sharing the burden of the Belmont family resting on his shoulders. Alucard relaxes his hand, but keeps it on the hunter’s arm.

“Step aside, son.” Dracula’s voice echoes again, loud and menacing; an order more than a request. “Do you think I am blind? I know who and what that man is. What do you think he will do, once he defeats me?”  
  
Dracula looks contrite, as the idea of having a human stop him is not only insulting, but also ridiculous. Alucard squares his jaw and stays silent as his father continues.

“You are the only thing she left,” Dracula mourns, and he looks genuinely stricken. “Why? Why sacrifice a home, a family, for ungrateful monsters; for filthy witches and dishonored hunters?”

Alucard takes a deep breath. It feels liberating, to finally confront his father again. It is quite like the first time, a year ago, when he got hurt and almost died, but this time, he isn’t afraid. He doesn’t stand alone.

“I am not something,” Alucard says. “Not a mere trinket mother left behind for you to remember her by. I am Adrian Tepes. I will always stand with mankind and...”

Alucard draws another sharp breath and unsheathes his sword. His heart, usually slow, is hammering now in his chest, but his movements are steady when he points the end of the blade up, towards his father’s face.

Trevor’s hand is warm and a little clammy on back, and Sypha’s smile is proud and beautiful.

“...And I do not wish the home nor the family you’re offering, as I already have one.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And... It is done! It's not perfect, but I did not wish to go into the full fight against Dracula. I wanted to explore Alucard's feelings about it more than anything else, and also a bit of Dracula's. 
> 
> I'm glad you stuck with me until the end, and I hope you enjoyed the fic.
> 
> I already have another idea so... See you soon !

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/roboticake) and also [Tumblr](https://roboticake.tumblr.com) if you wish to talk ! :)


End file.
